


Marked by Death

by themoonflower



Series: War and the Underworld [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sisyphus mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonflower/pseuds/themoonflower
Summary: Thanatos wakes up in the House of War after the Sisyphus incident. Ares has a favour or two to ask him.
Relationships: Ares/Thanatos (Hades Video Game)
Series: War and the Underworld [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179146
Comments: 18
Kudos: 199





	Marked by Death

In the terrible chains restraining his divine power as well as his body, Thanatos dreams.

These are not the dreams brought on by his brother’s gentle influence, merely the product of a mind imprisoned and desperate to escape. He thinks of home, and the disdain on Lord Hades’ face as he will surely chastise him for his failure. He imagines being back free on the surface under the sun whose harshness bothers him but which is infinitely preferable to the stifling dark surrounding him now. He knows he is a fool, that he has been tricked. Surely the other gods would laugh to see him in such a predicament.

Or perhaps a few of them might not. Most of his family, at least, and perhaps one or two others. Lord Ares, maybe. He is violent, yes, but he has always shown courtesy to the gods of the Underworld, much more so than most of the rest of his Olympian kin. Thanatos sees him often enough in the course of his work that he considers him a colleague. They exchange words sometimes, and watch each other work.

Thanatos has admitted to himself, though not to anyone else, that it is not only the work itself that he likes to watch.

He dreams of Lord Ares coming to find him, bursting through the doors of his prison, the aura of battle rage rising tangibly from his person like a red mist. He imagines the way he would somehow produce a key and unlock the chains meant for Sisyphus, releasing Thanatos from the painful bindings. He thinks of how he would pick Thanatos up as easily as a parent might carry a small child and bring him out of the dark.

This dream seems more vivid than most, he thinks to himself as he drifts into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

He awakens in the House of War.

He has never been here before, but from the feel of it he knows it is neither the underworld nor the mortal surface. It carries the same hum of divine power as home, though playing a different tune in a different key. The walls of the room are plain white, adorned with battle maps and racks of weapons. The daylight streaming in through the window has been softened with a translucent covering.

But most of his attention goes to the figure sitting at a small table next to the window. He is facing away, but Thanatos does not need to guess who he is. Dark-skinned, he has hair the same colour as the iron sword he is holding and polishing with an oiled cloth. It is strange to see him off the battlefield, out of his armour, but the simple linen chiton he wears shows off his powerfully built form to good advantage.

A thought comes to him unbidden, as if spoken by his brother Hypnos. _I suppose that’s one way to end up in Lord Ares' bed, but it seems an awful lot of trouble to take to get there._ It's not really that funny, but it sets something off inside him, and he is unable to stifle a sound somewhere between a giggle and a sob.

Lord Ares turns towards him. "My lord Death, you're awake. Are you well?"

Thanatos is not well. He aches all over, and he is still not sure this isn't a dream and he is about to wake up still bound in Sisyphus' chains. He tries to say something, but his voice has been used for nothing but screams lately and it catches in his throat, and besides he can't stop giggle-crying, or whatever this is.

Then Lord Ares is there, sitting on the side of the bed and scooping him up into his arms without apparent effort. "It's all right now, my lord," he murmurs, his golden voice devoid of the divine harmonics that normally evoke battle cries and the thundering clash of weapons. "You are safe and I am here."

Blood and darkness, what is _wrong_ with him? He is normally not given over to excess displays of emotion, yet here he is shaking all over and weeping hysterically—yes, definitely weeping now—into the other god's chest. It's utterly embarrassing and not at all what he wanted for their first real interaction outside of exchanging professional courtesies and that embarrassment is part of what is making him cry even harder, which is even more embarrassing…

Finally the storm subsides, and he finds his voice again. "I'm sorry, my lord Ares, I don't know what came over me."

“It is a completely normal reaction, my lord,” the war god says calmly. “You are not accustomed to experiencing violence at the hand of another, but the injuries often go beyond what can be seen on the surface. Your mind needs to recover just as your body does.” With a warm, callused finger, he traces one of the fading marks on Thanatos’ forearm where the cruel chains recently cut into his flesh. “It will heal.”

He makes no move to dislodge Thanatos from his lap, and Thanatos for his part makes no move to dislodge himself.

“You came for me,” he says eventually.

Lord Ares reclines back against the pillows and arranges Thanatos against him so they can speak face to face. “One can hardly expect _me_ not to notice when Death becomes absent from the world, my lord,” he says, and then the gravity of his expression is relieved by a small, slightly feral grin. “My esteemed uncle Hades is less than delighted with me that I broke into Tartarus to find you without first asking his leave,” he adds, “but that will be a conversation for another time, I think.”

Thanatos’ mouth drops open. “You _didn’t!”_

Lord Ares laughs. “I was in a hurry,” he says with no trace of shame. “And I have never been good at self-restraint.”

“I am sorry to cause such trouble,” Thanatos says. “I was such a fool. He _tricked_ me.”

The arms around him tighten. “The real fool is the one who dared believe he could get away with such a trick,” Lord Ares says, and while his voice remains quiet, an undertone of ferocity has returned to it. Red glints that Thanatos has never been close enough to notice before flash in his dark eyes. “He has been delivered to the Furies now and is receiving his just deserts. But once we get up from here, I think I will raze his kingdom to the ground in recompense for this insult and to make of it such an example that none will dare try any similar mischief again.” The hard light fades from his eyes and he gives Thanatos an almost shy smile. “May I do that for you, my lord?”

Thanatos’ breath catches, and he can’t think of an adequate response, so he simply leans in and covers Ares’ mouth with his own.

He has never kissed anyone before, not like this anyway. When people talk about Death’s embrace, after all, they are invariably talking about something else. But he thinks he must have done it correctly, based on the soft sound the other god makes and the way one of his hands comes up to cradle the back of his head while the other pulls him in closer.

After the initial moment of tenderness, Ares takes the lead, to Thanatos’ relief and delight, and begins doing something with his lips and tongue and teeth that awakens something fierce and hungry deep inside him. _How do mortals, with their constant need for breath, manage this?_ he wonders idly. Ares tastes intoxicating, like fire and iron and something all his own, and he cannot get enough of it.

He has no idea how long it is before they finally break apart to just lie in each other’s arms. “I hope that was not too forward of me,” Thanatos murmurs when his breath finally steadies enough for him to speak. He can’t remember a time he has felt so warm and comfortable.

“I should hope not,” Ares replies with a chuckle. “I have been trying to court your attention for, oh, centuries by now, I think.”

“I… wait, what?”

“Have you not noticed?”

“I’ve seen you watching me sometimes, but… I know you’re hardly shy when it comes to taking people to your bed. I thought if you were interested, you would have said something.”

Ares shifts a little beneath him. “If you were anyone else, perhaps,” he says. “But of course between the two of us, you are the master, and I the student. I was waiting for _you_ to take me to _yours.”_

Thanatos has to take a moment to digest that thought. “Oh,” he says finally. “I’m glad we had this talk, then. And I think we may have some catching up to do.”

“I would like that very much, my lord,” says Ares, and there is something a little less deferential and a lot more possessive in the title now. “But I’m afraid if we get carried away now, our duties will be neglected, and you have already been too long from your work.”

Thanatos reluctantly peels himself off of him. “You’re right,” he says, getting to his feet a little unsteadily. Now that he thinks about it he can feel the weight of the mortals waiting to be released and yes he is _very_ overdue. He adjusts his clothing, then stretches out his hand. His scythe appears in it… and then he finds he needs to sit back down again until the tears clear from his eyes.

“Are you all right?” Ares asks from the other corner of the room where he is taking his armour from a rack.

Thanatos swallows. “I think part of me was still not sure this wasn’t all a dream, until…”

“Ah,” the other god says, not pausing in his preparations for battle. “Yes, you may react strangely to ordinary things for a while. And that reminds me, you may wish to ask your brother to gentle your dreams, or you may end up with some distressing ones.”

Thanatos _really_ ought to go, but he steals a few more moments running his fingers over the symbol and extension of his power, telling himself he needs to re-attune his connection with it. “Thank you,” he says. “For rescuing me, and… everything.”

“You can thank me properly later, my lord,” Ares says, glancing over at him with a wink, but then his expression grows more serious again. “Although—before you go, there is one thing, if it is not too much to ask.”

“Name it,” Thanatos says. “I owe you a debt.”

“Since I am going out to wreak destruction in your name, I would ask for some mark that I can bear upon my person to show that it is for you that I fight.”

“You mean like an emblem, or a banner? I don’t think I have a banner.”

“I was thinking of something perhaps more… permanent. My service to you will not be ended with this particular skirmish, after all.” He gives a nervous cough when Thanatos does not answer right away. “Forgive me, I have been an admirer of yours for a very long time, and—”

“No, it’s not that,” says Thanatos. “I’m just thinking. How obvious do you want it to—nevermind.” He has learned a few new things about Ares today, but one thing he has always known is that the quick-tempered, passionate god prefers grand, dramatic gestures to almost anything else. He touches the blade of his scythe once more, then stands, gathering power to himself until his voice echoes with the finality of the grave. “Are you certain, my lo—my disciple?”

Oh, yes, Ares _likes_ that. His hands drop from the fastenings of his armour and he takes a slow step closer to Thanatos. “I would be marked by Death.”

Thanatos’s feet leave the floor and he floats up into the air. “Go down on your knees, disciple,” he says. “And don’t even _think_ of making any dirty comments or I won’t do it.”

One corner of Ares’ mouth twitches, but he complies.

“Close your eyes and be still.”

He wills the power to pool beneath them both. It comes a little more slowly than he is used to, here on Olympus in the heart of another god’s power, but eventually he can feel the moment of inevitability coming where nothing can stay Death’s hand, and in that moment he raises his scythe and strikes Ares across the face, cutting away not flesh or bone or soul, but colour. Ares twitches slightly, but otherwise remains rock-still.

Thanatos allows himself to sink back to the floor. “You can look now,” he says.

Ares opens his once-dark eyes, which now glow crimson in the middle of the bone-white stripe painted across his face just above his ears. He reaches up and touches his cheek with one finger, and then a sword appears in his other hand and he peers at his reflection in its mirror-polished surface. His eyes widen and he stares at himself in shock.

When he finally speaks again, the red mist of his bloodlust has risen up around him and his voice is raw and ragged. “May Hermes speed your work, my lord,” he says, “and when you once more have leisure, _find me.”_

Thanatos feels the colour rising in his face as his own desire surges in answer. If he stays any longer, he is not going to be able to tear himself away, and the work simply _cannot_ wait. “I’m glad you like it,” he says, and shifts away in a green flash.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, yeah. I wanted to give a Than/Ares explanation for where Ares’ warpaint stripe comes from, and also I kind of loved the idea of the two of them dancing around each other for literal ages with Than going “gosh he’s hot, but if he wanted me he’d have already made a move,” meanwhile being completely oblivious to the fact that Ares, being an old-fashioned fellow with very traditional ideas about what their respective roles in their relationship should be, has been like “notice me erastes” ever since he first laid eyes on him.


End file.
